


Sunshine in the rain

by swaggynatic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 09:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15861096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swaggynatic/pseuds/swaggynatic
Summary: Out of frustration and erratic emotions, Arthur finds himself making an impulsive choice of duplicating his former colony through the use of his pure magicーwith a little help from an empire of romance, of course.And it is not just a mere duplicate but instead, a heartwarming and definitely a boyfriend material version of Alfred F. Jones.





	1. Chimerical

**Author's Note:**

> Chimerical ー (adj) existing only as the product of unchecked imagination:   
> fantastically.

It wasn't recently when it deemed to Arthur that he has grown sentimental and romantic feelingsーas much he loathes to acknowledge itー to the rising nation. In fact, it's been ages since the cliche butterflies-in-your-belly, or more creatively, dinosaurs-in-your-intestines, has been occuring in his body's homeostasis. And it's also been ages since he was facing the consequences of letting his heart take control, which is dealing with mockery and a rampage of accusations from his love interest, who showed no hesitations in turning him into the laughingstock of every forum. How lovely.  
  
But Arthur had enough.  
  
The frustration was initially caused by America however, a myriad of circumstances entered the pictureーbeing treated like rubbish by his brothers when he was only a mere child, despised by various nations when his empire was at its prime, and now that he lost almost everything, he was still hated.  
  
Hated at his worst and hated at his best.  
  
Even if there are nations who are older than him, he is crowned the old man. Even if there are nations who are the living personification of the bitterness of coffee, he is still the faultfinding captious cynic of them all.  
  
So when the conference held today was adjourned, Arthur quickly fixed his suitcase and dashed out of the roomーcongratulating himself for surviving hours of France's hellish ramblings and internally cursing everyone with the exception of Canada and Germany who remained sane amidst all chaos.  
  
"England!" An awfully obnoxious voice filled with familiarity called out, "Wait up!"  
  
_Face_ _forward. Don't turn around. No one is worth your time._  
  
Thus, Arthur entered his rental car, withstanding the urge to face his left and be greeted with the sight of his significant other luring him with those puppy eyes. He can't afford another trickery that will only make him spend his nights plunging on alcohol. He stepped on the pedal and drove off.  
  
The exquisite scenery provided by Italy's regal architecture was a sight to behold. Kudos to it for diminishing his uncongenial temper. Nevertheless, his conclusion to leave for England right after the meeting is already decided.  
  
He couldn't stay at a country that screams love wherever he goes.  
  
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»  
  
A heavy downpour was the first to greet Arthur when he stepped out of the airport. It was fortunate that his personal assistant had no qualms and was willing to fetch him. Upon arriving at the manor, the blond nation insisted on offering a cup of tea, feeling guilty of troubling the other during his day-off.  
  
"Mr. Kirkland! Here, you can lend my umbrella!"  
  
Soaked at the cloudbursts, Arthur unloaded the trunkーor a boot, in their jargonーand fetched his belongings.  
  
"It's alright! I gave you too much trouble for today."  
  
Farewells are bade and Arthur scampered to his residenceーmaking use of his luggage to spare him from further rainfall. He was drenched both with water and sweat upon entering his manor, causing him to slip while doing so.  
  
"Oh gravity, thou art a heartless bitch." He referenced, miserably.  
  
Arthur took an occasion to regain his composure. Having fallen face flat and mildly hurting his chin in the process made him lethargic, lagging his movements as the pain crippled in the muscles of his visage. He was still soaked and his coat absorbed too much rain that its heaviness was blocking him to carry on. At one point, he lost the strength to perform physical activities.

  
Shoes thrown and luggage mislayed, Arthur leaned on the door's thresholdーhis back aching a little due to its edgy features. Droplets of liquid flowed through his skin and he could not decipher whether they are sweat, rain, or even tears. The downfall was coming down in sheets and the clouds painted grey in the cerulean sky. He reckoned that it will rain much longer than the past few instances.  
  
His eyes hovered around the villa, being wary of any passersby who might witness him in a slump state. Arthur, afterall, has a reputation to upholdーa gentleman of noble background and a tough hombre who doesn't breakdown merely because of sentiments.  
  
And oh, how he failed the latter a hundred times.  
  
"For a country of tragedy, you're doing a pretty good job."  
  
A robust voice rang from behindーterrifying the brit in a way no other explosives had done. He cranked his head and searched for the intruder lurking in his household.  
  
There was merely darkness and a vague apparition that met his sight. Arthur stood up and made haste towards a shelf attached to a wallーit contained all weaponry left in his care before the age of empires and reign of conquerors are replaced by independent nations.  
  
"Who is that? Reveal yourself at once!"  
  
It was a slow sequence of events, but as the shadow stepped closer and revealed a piece of its features, the quivering in Arthur's arms lessened. The beholder possessed an expressive pair of eyes and a cluttered, chestnut hair, which despite the lack of order, complemented his debonair attributes. Tiny strands of beard made an appearance on his chin as well. It was more than enough to make a proper assessment.  
  
"R-Rome!"  
  
The eerie silence hovering the manor escalated into a patterned humming and strumming of guitar strings. The terrified glint that coruscated in Arthur's eyes is soon replaced with astonishment. His grip with his long sword was diminished at the sight of his forebearer.  
  
"The one and only," The deep, accented voice was adorned with seductiveness that can outmatch that of France, ". . . and the everlasting!"  
  
_This is not true. I must be driving mad!_  
  
Arthur leaned on a furniture, blinking his eyes and panicky contemplating on his ongoing predicament. He failed to notice the footsteps approaching him; and the pat he received on his shoulder.  
  
"Now tell me, who is this fortunate specimen which your heart is beating for?"  
  
Not only did a rainstorm and tsunami woke Arthur back to his senses, but the fact that a simple touch led to a definite conclusion and solid evidence that the spirit of a great empire has come to visit and possibly wreak havoc in his life.  
  
"Reality be damned." He muttered, unknowingly. Although the ancestor didn't seem to mind.  
  
"Does he have a booty like Romano's tomato? A defined body such as Feliciano's potato? A dynasty like Russia's? A darling pianist like Prussia's? Or a nor and a way like Denmark's? Perhaps, a soft, blond angel with amaranthine eyes like that of France's and Sweden's?"  
  
Arthur cringed, "I am most certainly not a hopeless, sentimental fool like those nations you've mentioned. My heart pumps to supply blood, not for a ridiculous mammalー."  
  
_ーwhose hair flickers with the golden sunlight. His cerulean eyes reflect the ocean I adored and spent my days sailing back in my shining era, and the sky I could never reach. He has a body that maintained its buffness despite the amount of calories in his beloved burgers. And who were you referring to when you talked about France? Was it Caー?_  
  
"ーwho could only think of giant bubbles as a solution for global warming."  
  
"You described him well. Such eloquence!"  
  
At the very moment, Arthur could not decipher whether the empire is an expert psychic or simply being sarcastic. A part of him silently hoped that it was the latter. He then focused his attention on what caused Rome's existence in the present hour and think of an immediate remedy as to avoid problems concerning time.

"Rome, lend me your ears. I did not summon you, howeve-"  
  
"There is nothing to worry about. Even if you no longer refer to me as grandpapa, I will still aid you with your problems concerning amor!" Following this reply is a gesture of a broken heart.  
  
"No, Rome. You defied the laws of heaven. Now, you have to retur-."  
  
"Because the L in Latin," Rome placed an open palm on his chest and soured the other in the air, "stands for love!"  
  
"I'm bloody fortunate I am not one of those who inherited that attitude of yours." Arthur massaged his temples, infuriated at hearing a mawkish pun. "Listen, Rome. You have to go bac-."  
  
"And because Romans is synonimous to . . .  _romance_."  
  
A mometary silence soon followedーbut if you listen intently, you will hear the screeching explosion of a bundle of nerves; nerves that belong to Arthur Kirkland, whose fist are balled and ready to punch the annoyingly suave predecessorーdismissing the line of respect he holds for him.  
  
He may be in love, but he knows for sure, that he will never cross the line of desperation.  
  
Albeit the shuddering atmosphere, however, the older empire never lost his sparkle. He delivered a wink, and the said motion caused Arthur to flinch.  
  
"Rome, you have to return to the afterlife. I will use my magic to assist you, if I must."  
  
A mishap.  
  
His sincere intention opened a way to the elder's ulterior motive. " Magic, you say?"  
  
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»≿  
  
It only took Arthur a surge of old memories and discussions regarding the philosophy of love to cause a furious outburst and conduct a somewhat logical decision.  
  
Yes, somewhatーbecause a verdict is never fully logical unless discussed over tea. And Rome insisted on wine and whiskey.  
  
What could the said verdict be?  
  
"Shimi shimiya shimiya shimiya. Drink swalalala."  
  
Words of enchantment brought a cloud of smoke to form on top of a huge pot. Rosemary, thistles, lavenders, and a .... liquid whose color resembles a mucusー similar enough to be identified as oneーare all combined to form a potion. Security guaranteed, assured by Rome, but its disturbing appearance claims otherwise.  
  
Hazy and dazed, Arthur delivered the final enchantment and counted seven heartbeats, as instructed by Rome.  
  
"Art?"  
  
The familiar and heartaching voice took Arthur's attention, and the said country swerved his gaze behind.  
  
Green eyes met blue ones.  
  
Arthur never knew that being mortified and relieved at the same moment can be of any possibility. He felt the blaze of alcohol lessen as the view of the American cleared. He wore a blue, teddy bear printed pajamas and a Santa Claus hat despite Christmas still a few months away. On top of that, he was sipping a bottle of soda.  
  
Typical AmericanーNo, typical Alfred F. Jones.  
  
Arthur never knew that Rome's knowledge and his own limited power is capable of making a duplicate. The personality is also restored, however, and the emerald-eyed nation wondered if he would receive the same satiric treatment America gives him.  
  
He was expecting a glint of mischief in his eyes, followed by a train of name-calling with the words old drunkard, as usual. He was expecting a sally of whines and complaints at how he ended up in his dusty basement surrounded with frightening chemicals. He was expecting the American demand a ticket back to his homeland, leaving him a nasty remark as his form of farewell.  
  
But in contrast to his expectations, he was given a look of fondness. An expression he last saw back in 1976, the younger's bicentennial celebration. When he offered him a brand new and polished version of the Liberty Bell, when he was bleeding profusely (although not exaggerately) due to matters concerning independence, and when he was relying on a thin branch he just randomly picked across the street.  
  
Arthur wasn't met with a huge amount of ridicule during that day, but only with a mellow chortle, a soft gaze, and surprising words of gratitude.  
  
He would be lying if he says he don't want to see it again.  
  
"Angliya, all you have to do is go with the flow. Let love take control~."  
  
Rome interrupted his thoughts, briefly pointing to a bracelette attached to Arthur's wrist, before vanishing into thin air.  
  
The fond look in Alfred's visage was now replaced with mischief, but it was different, completely different. It resembled that ofー  
  
"Hey, babe."  
  
ーa lover.  
  
Did Rome sneak sugar and cheese to the spell?  
  
Before Arthur could fully comprehend the situation, he blacked out.


	2. Oneirataxia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oneirataxia ー (noun) inability to distinguish dreams or fantasy from real life.

_Please tell me that this is just a joke._

The meadow which was once surrounded with greeneries and flowers, is now floodied with mud and corpses of heroic martyrs, and of shattered dreams.

It was also the same meadow where two nations met.

The same meadow where the sun first shone on Arthur.

_That this is just a play-pretend you took seriously._

Continuous rainfall showered the two nations, lagging both parties of their movements. Bloodshed remained among the men, howeverーincreasing the bitterness and pain in their conflicted hearts.

"England . . . you used to be so great."

 _Please tell me this isn't true_.

The crashing waves are nothing against his empire-driven galleons. The devastating wars he participates into, is not enough to cause a breakdown.

The rain was merely a weather for Arthur.

But now it was a trigger for old memories to surge into the present.

It was his punishment.

_I'll take your hand so we can go home._

 

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

 

Arthur woke up as he sensed the chest area of his sleeping attire drenched with water. Keeping his eyes shut, he suggested that this may only be the result of a hole in the roof, but considering the quality materials used in building the manor, it may not be the matter.

There are other factors that must not be looked down.

Factors that include the weight resting on his chest and the strands of hair his palm subconsciously touched when he reached for his own clothing. In addition to that is the sound of breathing apart from himself, which Arthur couldn't resist listening to as it felt more of a soothing lullaby.

Oh, how many English sailors were lured to their death because of the siren's music.

The nation jolted awake, with stern eyes glaring at the complacent figure who remained drifting in his own slumber, seemingly unaware of the bother and confusion he is causing the Brit. And as soon as Arthur remembered the events yesternight, memories resurfaced and the struggle to comprehend the situation proved to be more difficult than what it seems.

_What a great day to have a mental breakdown._

Alfred, the duplicate (to be specific), had his head laying on the other nation, hair disorganised but not as sloven as Arthur's. He slept with an expression of serenity etched on his face, and the elder nation envied him for it. Both of his hands are wrapped on the Brit as if entrapping him on his embrace.

All of these maudlin actions are likely to be done by Alfred F. Jones, but at the same time, it is impossible.

Opting to be freed from the lazybone's grip, Arthur cautiously untangled the hands clinging on him, still wary of this clone's presence and questioning himself as to why he listened to Rome's analects, which included the epigram: Si vis amari, ama.

"Hmm . . . Art?" The gentleman was only halfway done escaping the hold of the American when his movements were made aware of. Blue eyes glistened and a cowlick perked up as the intruder gained consciousness and acknowledged him. "Good morning!"

Arthur quickly shuffled away from the bed, grasping his blanket and thanking the heavens that the screech he produced was nothing like that of a little girl.

"Refrain from talking to me!" He seized the lamp shade from his table and pointed it at the duplicate.

Alfred raised his hands in surrender. "Woah Artie, calm down. I know it's my fault for not waking you up and I kinda fell asleep watching you, but not in a creepy way!" He gulped, "So . . . I hope a breakfast could make it up for all the trouble?"

A folding tray was then placed on the Englishman's bed and soon after, it was followed by a plate containing a sunny-side up and sausage formed into a smiley. Two strips of bacon were placed on top of the eggs to serve as its eyebrows, much to the Brit's chagrin.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, keeping himself from throwing the lamp at the yank, "A breakfast as a peace treaty? Oh, and just a reminder, my name is Arthur not Artie! I will not alloー"

"Yep! I have here a hot chocolate too, since I used your shower without permission."

Arthur deadpanned. "How dare you interrupt me."

 _That explains the soaked hair_.

Still heedful, Arthur merely glared at the cup offered to himーa part of his mind questioning why he was served chocolate when the other was aware of his preference for tea, after reasoning however, he concluded that it may be because this clone would rather decide on chocolate than coffee. The final word left a bitter aftertaste in his tongue.

"And um," It dawned to Arthur that an awkward silence ensued before the duplicate tried to start a chit-chat."It was hard to get a shirt my size, y'know! Luckily, I found this while searching the guest rooms."

"Those belong to Scotland."

"Who?"

Disbelief clouded Arthur's eyes as he reconsidered throwing the lampshade to the American. "Do you even understand basic geography?"

"Hold on, I'll consult my map."

Arthur could only gape as the duplicate laughed cheerily. He even had the gall to whistle as he scarried towards his rucksack and rummage through his belongings. And being aware of that added to the Brit's confusion.

One, how did he appear from the thin air with his belongings in tow? As far as his memory could take him, he was wearing a pajama and a Santa Clause hat, and munching on a burger last night. Two, considering the size and the bulkiness of his rucksack, how come he didn't prepare his own clothing?

"Here it is!" On the American's dominant hand was a map. He unfolded the crumpled piece of paper in front of the Brit, who was now focused on eating his breakfast despite the annoyance he felt at the sight of those edible eyebrows. After all, throwing them is such a waste of effort on the clone's party and is never an act of a true, sensible gentleman.

"Hmm . . . I can't seem to find Scotland?"

Arthur snatched the so-called World Map and eyed it suspiciously. Nevertheless, he wasn't wrong about his expectations. Every inch of the chart screamed inaccuracy. Only the continent of North America was present and is shamefully drawn in a cartoonized form. In place of a compass is the star-spangled banner. Mexico was then labelled as South America. Saskatchewan is misspelled.

Nunavut was even cut off Canada.

"Get a decent map and correct your knowledge regarding the British Isles! You are worsening my hangover." Arthur stabbed the baconized eyesbrows using a fork.

"Woah! We nations get hangovers too?"

"Of course, we share the same anatomy as humans. But in case you don't know, I'll point the blame to your rubbish school system." The former pirate responded grumpily, and in an instant, a look of hurt washed over the American's features.

Arthur knew that shouldn't feel guilty, but seeing the man in front of him actually wounded by his words had him working on an autopilot to smooth over any hurt feelings. He has rebuked him too many times in just a few minutes after all.

"Even so," He gulped, "It would be more fair on your part and justifiable if I also consider your. . . well,"

"It's alright, Artie. It's just that I'm underage. And Matt won't let me take a shot even if their drinking age is 18!" A huff soon followed. The frown quicky dissolving of his face.

"Fortunately here in Britain, the legal age is 18. I might as well treat you to a pubー."

A surge of realization knocked Arthur up. It alerted him that their causerie is getting casual and he has been too engaged with his breakfast and their continuous banter that his guard began to waver.

He was still unsure of this carbon copy's origin or intention.

And no matter how absurd the idea is and how the thought escalated quickly, he could possibly be a mannequin.

"Art, I assure you. I never had plastic surgery."

That was when it deemed to Arthur that he unawarely cupped the American's cheeks while muttering a phrase close to There must be something plastic, at least.

_Blimey, you're challenging to decipher._

There's still a high chance of him being a normal human that was kidnapped and placed under Rome's tutelage, trained to be Alfred's replica, honed to attain his nation's personality, made aware of the Brit's cynicism and finally, portray the role ofーer . . . Arthur's companion?

Above all, the former pirate knew the limits of his magic and was aware of the fact that he is not the strongest in sorcery among his brothers. Sealand may even be capable of more since his land consists of metalーmost specifically, iron.

. . . _Iron_.

The American glanced at him, worried. "Arthur?"

The spoken man reached another conclusion, which is the chance of replica!Alfred being a machine.

He shoved his tray and seized the duplicate. His face was set downwards as calloused fingers guided its path towards the Yank's nape.

"Um, Art? What are you doing?" The carbon copy's voice was muffled, as he found it hard to speak when positioned in such degree.

"Searching for the switch to turn you off, you robotic impostor."

Apparently, his thorough search resulted to failure. The soft, humanly flesh his fingers touched only denied his theory of this replica being composed of machinery.

This is an alien, hidden in a human body. Rome must have befriended one whilst descending to earth.

"No worries, Artie! There's a switch down here where you can _turn me on_ instead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is relatively shorter than the first chapter, and more awkwardness ensued (It has to, kolkolkol)
> 
> The Latin phrase also translates to "If you wish to be loved, love."
> 
> Yes, you read it right. This world needs more sap. 
> 
> And am I the only who prefers Art than Artie? I already prepared a cringeworthy pick-up line for that. Beware.
> 
> By my leave, homo sapiens!


	3. Rantipole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rantipole ー (noun) a wild, reckless young person.

"Hey, Art! According to this book of Analyzing Britain and the British, the first dish a dummy tourist should try is the fish 'n chips!"  
  
Arthur Kirkland, once a formidable hunter, a honorable knight, and a fearsome pirate, now lay on the frigid, calloused floor of his tavern whilst surrounded by a myriad of ancient books. Four morning hours were already wasted in contemplating about the identity of this duplicate and still, he reached an empty conclusion.  
  
"And we should go to 100% authentic British pubs! I can drink right? I'm pretty sure I have my fake ID in here somewhere."  
  
In addition to his swallowing misery, the older nation also consumed his hours having to listen to the American's fuss and squeals.  
  
"Hey, Art? I can drink right?"  
  
"Of course! Humans are given the ability to drink. Therefore, they can drink."  
  
"You are such a grump." Alfred switched his gaze from the book towards Arthur. A glint of mischief appeared in his eyes before he started to speak in a theatrical mannerーeven faking an accent, "Well then, good sire, am I allowed to drink?"  
  
_Lord, if you do exist, shower this man with your mercy . . . because I won't._  
  
Clinching his fist, Arthur forced himself to appease his negative mood. A morning cup of tea would be a great solution, if only there wasn't an airhead to deal with.  
  
"I told you before, didn't I? Our drinking age starts at 18. 16 when you're with an adult."  
  
Finally losing his nerve, Arthur was already smiling the smile which was horrifying enough to shove a certain Russian away. It was the smile every rival nation feared since it signified their last breath. Albeit the situation, the clone remained oblivious of the fact that he's digging his own grave.  
  
"Um, alright then? Should we go get breakfast? Do you want some . . .tea?" The cheshire-like smile gradually created an effect towards the American, as his voice diminished from anticipation into hesitance. ". . . or scones?"  
  
Arthur, aware that his technique is working fairly, took another opportunity to terrify the younger one. He slowly walked towards himーtaking a scythe with his dominant hand.  
  
The replica backed slowly until he reached the wall nearest to the basement's exit. He wouldn't run away despite the chance though. He couldn't. He shouldn't.  
  
"How about scotch eggs? I can't wait to try those! Or meat pies?" Gulping heavily, this Alfred still couldn't see any improvement. The terrifying smile is still there and in addition to that, Arthur was about to stab him. "Let's go with the desserts then! Ah . . . trifles? Will trifles do?"  
  
The scythe paused midair the very moment Alfred mentioned the dessert. The English nation had no intention of harming the other, in the first place. His objective, which was a failure and a success at the same time, was to make the clone shut up. His talkative demeanor remained but at least, Arthur managed to invoke fear.  
  
"Trifles?" His facial expression started to fall back to its normal state.  
  
The replica scratched his head, still confused though less scared. "Yeah, I think chocolate trifles are delicious!"  
  
Trifles became a common delicacy since it was introduced centuries ago. It comes in a wide variety, ranging from chocolates to strawberries. Arthur wouldn't deny that he loves to eat such a treat. It was his favorite, just followed by banoffee pie. And if trifles were only honored with an extensive popularity, it could rival France's parfaits.  
  
"How did you know about trifles?"  
  
A cheeky grin began to form on the duplicate's lips, before he showed, once again, the book _Analyzing Britain and the British._  
  
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

  
"Alright, I'll summarize everything. Great Britain refers to three countries: England, Scotland, and Wales. UK is Great Britain and North Ireland. Am I getting it?"

Arms crossed though not from annoyance, Arthur nodded, a bit of pride swelling on his chest knowing that he contributed something to the American's knowledge about geography. "So far, you're correct."  
  
It was already noontime when the both of them agreed to go to the nearest place that offers every delicacy Alfred wants to try. It wasn't the appropriate meal Arthur would take to start the day, but his complains will result to nothing as it is already a quarter past 12. No breakfast, no tea, just dessert.  
  
Train of thoughts continued to bug Arthur. One, he wondered how he kept his composure during the 15 minutes of walking with someone who is completely and utterly similar to his love interest.  
  
Two, why did he momentarily decide to ignore searching for whatever caused the appearance of this man? This duplicate just doesn't resemble him in their physical appearance, but he was more . . . _accomodating_ to be with.

Their conversations were free from the extreme bickering the typical Alfred and Arthur combination would be during international meetings.  
  
The last thought that enraged Arthur is the scorching heat of the sun.  
  
"Is there anything else I should know?"  
  
Wiping the sweat of his forehead, Arthur began to feel wary about the clone once again; his trust issues kicking in. But seeing how his other efforts to understand the replica failed multiple times, he decided to be much more discreet with his plans.  
  
"There's more. How about the British Isles?" Arthur inquired, observing this Alfred intensively.  
  
"Erm, there's Ireland," The classic mental block hit Alfred and his following answers started to trail off. "and a ton of small islands likeーOh look! A kiosk!"

The latter rushed towards the telephone booth, evading all the questions that came afterwards and the barks of protests from Arthur.  
  
"I'm sure that you've already seen one considering last years' conference was held here. Quit acting like a first-timer tourist!" Arthur sighed, dragging the American towards a nearby cafè.  
  
A vacant table was present near the shop's corner, partially covered from the bustling of customers. The two hurried towards it, knowing that the shop is cramped up with locals and tourists due to the lunchtime rush.  
  
"So . . . this is like a date right?" The clone remarked mischievously and Arthur, oh Arthur, could only remind himself that this man is just a duplicate. He isn't Alfred F. Jones.  
  
The English nation restrained himself from slapping the other with the menu, a habit he developed to counteract his own emotions whenever they swing to giddiness.  
  
"Never in my life did I and will I, take a complete, obnoxious stranger on a date. And if I do, I'll take them to somewhere special." His last words were spoken in a whispered manner, however. Arthur's pale complexion failed to provide him an austere facade. It only made his blush noticeable. "But that doesn't matter! I'm only here with you for the trifles. You mentioned it and I realized that I craved for it too."  
  
_In all honesty, it's not just trifles that I crave._  
  
This version of Alfred is doing an excellent job in pursuing and earning Arthur's trust. Despite the lack of bickering, he was still similarly aggravating as the original Alfred. But if it was a certain frenchman who was duplicated and transported into his abode, he will throw him out without any second thoughts.  
  
This replica, however, if merely abandoned would leave lingering thoughts of regret in Arthur's mind. Perhaps, it's in the way he laughed like him, smiled like him, or in every way, be like him which made the Englishman hesitant to deattachーto assign him with someone else and treat him like a tourist who just happened to resemble his love interest.  
  
"What and who exactly are you?" Arthur asked when they both finished ordering.  
  
Despite the confusing feelings starting to bloom, the older nation has his fair share of experiences which made him more difficult to manipulate.

For all Arthur knows, this clone could be a mercenary sent here to assassinate him. What was Rome even thinking? Does he even think?  
  
"I'm Alfred F. Jones!"  
  
"I know that."  
  
Uncertainty could be seen across the look-a-like's face, increasing the suspicion and doubt hovering around Arthur's mind. "I'm the United States of America. The land of the free and the homー."  
  
"I also know that."  
  
He knows he's a personification. But is he aware that he is just a clone?  
  
"Well then . . . I have Hollywood?"  
  
Sighing, Arthur thought of a different approach. He distinctly remembers a movie of a similar scenario where a clone is unware of their state and is led to believe that they are the original pieces. On top of that, he doesn't sense anything from this Alfredーthe sense a personification feels whenever another nation steps on their landmass.  
  
He does sense a feint one, which must be his one of brothers stepping on their borders to annoy him.  
  
"You do realize that you are just a replica of what you think you are?"  
  
"What? A replica?" His reaction varies greatly from what Arthur expected. He wasn't fidgeting like a liar, but confused more than ever. His pupils didn't dilate. There was an absence of sweating. "I'm pretty sure I'm older than Matt. If that's the case, he is the replica!"  
  
_Right, Matthew!_  
  
The thought of another nation closest to him and even sharing the longest unprotected border brightened up Arthur's dim and clouded thinking. He could phone the Canadian and ask him about the Yank's whereabouts.  
  
After all, there was another hole that he has to fill up. Alfred's visits usually come with a notice from his government or personal assistant, but Arthur did not receive any. And he, despite how strong his magic is, still refuses another possibility that he made a clone. His memories from yesternight was still shrouded as ever.  
  
"It just ticks me how he's a centimeter taller than me now. It's weird."  
  
"He is older than you. A better strategist too." Arthur replied with a smug smile, a part of him anticipating how Alfred, clone or not, respond to brother rivalry. (Arthur knew jealousy is not the proper term.)  
  
The clone avoided eye contact, and his words left his lips in the form of a murmur. "You always baby him."  
  
Placing a halt to the awkwardness is the arrival of the waiter, armed with two trays adorned with local dishes. Arthur felt his wallet quivering.  
  
"Okay, Art. It's my turn to ask questions now." He said, biting a chunk of meat from his share whilst attempting to look like a vicious predator. It was amusing if done during a meal, but if it was done in bed, there's no denying that Alfred will indeed look like a predator.  
  
Arthur desperately shrugged those unholy thoughts back to the shallow corners of his brainーaware that he couldn't fully eradicate it.  
  
"This was never a getting-to-know-each-other interview to begin wi-."  
  
"Do you have an independence day?"  
  
Arthur stared intently at the other's eyes, his heart pounding from the word independence.  
  
This duplicate sure has a twisted idea of getting back against someone who poked his wound (or made him jealous). Arthur reminded himself, that if this is the Yank's way of revenging his ego, he shouldn't bring up such topic again.  
  
"Of course, we do." Arthur exclaimed, fixing his composure. He wanted to shut whatever feeling of victory and smugness is rising on this clone. For heaven's sake, the American's comeback does not even compete against a his sarcasm. They couldn't roast enough. "We call it the Good Riddance Day."  
  
"Who invaded you?!"  
  
"It's nothing like that! Although yes, I've been invaded a few times before, but that's besides the point!"  
  
The look-a-like was about to retort when Arthur sent him a stern look. "For example, your _independence_ , anyone's actually, we think of it as _Finally, a colony is gone. They're their own government's problem now. I'm a free bitch."_

An exasperated sigh escaped the American's lipsーstill absorbing the unbelievable action Arthur manifested when he empasized the word _problem_.

"If we use a simplier definition," Arthur stated, smirking at the sight of the baffled clone. "We celebrate the Good Riddance when we are planning to resign and then our higher-ups suddenly fire us."  
  
"That's boring!"  
  
Arthur rolled his eyes, "In what way is that boring?"

"No fighting?"  
  
"Not everything should be resolved through fighting, America." England knew he should be vexed at this senseless banter but the name he spoke to the clone stole his attention the most.  
  
_Did I just refer to him as America?_  
  
Arthur was busy questioning his feelings that he failed to notice how Alfred planned to combat his own side in this conversation. He took his phone outーhis samsung, because he's not basicーand spoke, "Google, how many wars did England join in?"  
  
His phone beeped for a moment before responding, "260 and more."  
  
"Who's the warmonger now?" The look Alfred gave him was filled with so much pride, as if he won his 3rd independence. One could swear they could hear the star-spangled banner being played from the background.  
  
"Let me remind you something, lad. That caused my do-."  
  
"Gentlemen, we would like to apologise for the late arrival of the trifles." Arthur's response was cut-off due to the presence of a waiter. I hope you don't mind us adding a special treat served usually for couples."  
  
_Couples?!_  
  
Opposite emotions were shown by the two nations. The other showed cheerfulness, leaving one weary of all the misfortunates occuring to him.  
  
"Hey, thanks!" Alfred quickly took the chocolate trifle and one of the social treats, but the latter was taken swiftly by Arthur.  
  
"It's not necessary! We're not lovers and just misundersー." Arthur took a closer look at the waiter, baffled at his sudden realization. " _Wales_?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it! A terrible continuation of a story that has been on hiatus for a few months now. Forgive me if my definition of Good Riddance Day seems insulting at first or wrong at the second. Mostly, on the second one though.

**Author's Note:**

> You know it's angst when Arthur had enough. 
> 
> And you know it's crack when a Big Bang Theory reference was used. Honhonhonhon (That's an acceptable way to laugh, fite me)
> 
> And I know most of you expected that it was France I referred to when I wrote the empire of romance in the summary. However, Rome needs more recognition, as well as his influence on England and considering the history, England looked up to Portugal when it comes to love (I'm totally looking at you Sonnets from the Portuguese, although you're eritten by an Englishwoman) and France when it comes toーer, seduction?
> 
> (Hey there, les liaisons dangereuses)
> 
> Besides, you can't spell Romance without Romー okay, I'll stop.


End file.
